France's Bedtime Stories
by QueensOfPierogiAndPasta
Summary: When innocent Italy asks his big brother France for a bedtime story, France sees it as an opportunity to let his inner inner storyteller out. Rated M for language and minor non-France/Italy yaoi.
1. Chapter 1

**Onee-chan: I could no longer stand the fact that there was no disclaimer...**

**QueensOfPierogiAndPasta doesn't own Hetalia**

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France was practically prancing through the lower level of his home as he heard the shuffling of feet above him. His younger brother Italy had stopped by for a visit in the early afternoon, and the time had flown by in the blink of an eye. Evening had fallen, and after a quick argument, the Frenchman had convinced an uncertain Italy to spend the night.

_I've been waiting for this for years! I wonder what he looks like in only his pajamas... Or maybe_ _no pajamas at all_. France would never say out loud what he had in mind for his sibling, but then again, maybe this refusal for words was silly. Actions spoke louder than words, and let's just say that France was a _very_ active man.

"Franceypants?"

France turned around to face Italy, who had silently arrived at the foot of the stairs. The latter was wearing an oversized button down white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A pair of dark dress pants clung pathetically to his skinny frame. It was not very comfortable sleepwear in Italy's opinion, but as he hadn't been expecting to sleep at France's house, he hadn't packed his usual pink tank top and yellow shorts.

France was slightly displeased. _Oh well… clothing can be removed._ "What is it, frère chéri? Don't you think you might be a little uncomfortable in that outfit?" _At least he slipped his body into your clothes and not some commoner's potato sack. Although it would have been nice if he'd stumbled upon a maid's dress instead._

Italy glanced at his feet. They were swaddled by material that could not be pulled up to his ankles. "A little bit, yea. But it's not much of a problem, not for me at least. Germany is always making me wear uncomfortable military clothing, day and night, he says it's meant to make me hardier but all I ever feel is itchy because he refuses to spend extra money for fabric softener to add to the wash and I always tell him that I brought something more comfortable to sleep in but he tells me 'no' and one time he even threw my night clothes in the trash and-"

France tossed his hand in the air. His little brother loved to ramble on until there was no such thing as punctuation and his original idea had long been lost in the empty space of his absent mind. _It's cute, but I wish he didn't do it so often_. "Italy, what did you come down here for?"

"Oh, well, I came to ask you for a bedtime story."

"A bedtime story? Aren't you a little old for that?"

"Everybody says I am, but I don't think so. I can never convince Germany or Romano or anybody to tell me a story, so I'm often up half the night making one up myself. Sometimes if I like the story, I paint a scene from it the next day."

"Interesting. I'll tell you a story. Yes. A very nice story… perhaps one about a man and a woman? Or perhaps a man and a man? Doesn't that sound nice?" France felt his pants grow tight.

Italy's brow furrowed. France almost wished he had a camera: he had never seen such a serious expression on his brother's face. Italy replied: "I don't think so, Franceypants. You scared me a bit with the last story you told me about a man and a woman. I don't think I want to hear one like that again, not when I'm going to sleep."

France stifled a giggle when he remembered that incident. His brother had been in his early teens, and Francis had decided to tell him the story of when he had lost his virginity. He thought he was being helpful; Italy had been confused and a little scarred.

"Well," France said as he began to lead Italy up the staircase, "I won't tell you about a man and a woman. But you'd be okay with a man and man, wouldn't you?"

"I guess," His sibling replied. "It wouldn't be the same, would it?"

"Oh, no, this story will be quite different. You see, rather than the characters being a man and a woman, the characters will both be men. And that story- that story had been of the romantic sort! This one will be maybe… a horror?"

"A horror story? For bed?" Italy lay down in the queen-sized bed in one of France's many spare rooms.

France pulled the chair from the desk to beside the bed. "Don't worry, it'll provoke nice thoughts. _Very _nice thoughts. And it's a story filled with passion! You're always saying you have a passion for art, don't you? You'll love it."

Italy was still uncertain, but he said nothing, and France took this to mean approval.

"Once upon a time, not very long ago…."


	2. Chapter 2 : An Urban Horror

**AN: This story is a parody/is based off of some urban legend, however, I can't remember what it was called.**

**We don't own Hetalia**

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France paused for a minute. He had the perfect horror story in mind. But who would be the characters? He wanted to have fun with this_. Maybe that silly Englishman and disgusting American. Yes, perfect._ The Frenchman turned his eyes to his brother, lying in bed with the covers pulled around him. Italy had covered all but his face; his eyes were wide with anticipation of the shock that a horror story was sure to bring.

_He looks adorable. Like a teddy bear. I want to squeeze him._

"Franceypants?" Italy did not think the silence was pleasant.

"Sorry, Italy." France began the story again. "Once upon a time, not very long ago, a teenage boy was seeing his parents off. They were going a night-long party, and trusted their son to take care of himself and go to sleep at the proper hour. As soon as they had left, the teenager picked up the phone and called his boyfriend, informing him that the parents would be out the whole night and that he was free to come over and have some 'fun.'

"The boyfriend arrived within minutes after the call. He was a handsome teen, a bit older than the first boy. He had messy blond hair and green eyes framed with the thickest eyebrows you'd ever seen. He was British, too, and you know how sexy British accents are-"

"Franceypants, I think you're getting a little sidetracked."

"I suppose it runs in the family, frère chéri. Okay, where was I?"

"You were describing the boyfriend to me."

"The boyfriend was British, yes. The boyfriend kissed his lover as he came through the door, and then he whispered into his ea-"

"What was the boyfriend's boyfriend –I mean, what was the first boy like?" Italy didn't like it when people told him stories with faceless characters. They were so hard to paint.

"He had straight blond hair with a cowlick that made him look stupidly attractive. He also wore glasses. And, he was taller than his boyfriend. Stronger too. Surprisingly, he was very fit despite all the nasty American food he shoveled into his mouth."

"What were their names?"

France sighed_. If he keeps asking all these questions, I'll never get to the fun part of the story._ "We'll call the British one 'Idiot' and the other one 'Fatass.' Okay?"

Italy did not think these were very nice names, but he nodded anyway.

"Do you have any more questions?" France asked.

His younger brother shook his head.

"Good. Well, Idiot kissed Fatass and then whispered in his ear, 'Where to?' Fatass told Idiot to wait, and he went to the kitchen. When he got horny, he got hungry, and right now he was pretty horny.

"As Fatass prepared a hamburger using leftover patties from dinner, he heard a crash behind him. Idiot was spread out across the kitchen table, staring at Fatass through slitted eyes. Fatass felt even hungrier now, but, because he perhaps didn't have his priorities straight, he felt that food came before sex. Also, because he still lived with his parents, he felt that maybe he should be a bit careful with how messy he was.

"'Dude,' Fatass said, 'We eat on that table. There's no way I'm fucking you on that, no matter how sexy I think it is.'

"Idiot made a small whimper and slid off of the table. 'Fine. I'll meet you upstairs beneath the covers of your bed.' He licked Fatass's cheek. 'Don't be too late.'

"So Fatass finished putting topping on his burger and ate it cold. He turned off the lights and went upstairs. The light from the streetlamp outside dimly illuminated his room, and he grinned as he caught sight of the lump beneath his covers. Idiot's clothes were strewn across the floor, and Fatass tossed his own beside them.

"He felt a little bloated, and he told Idiot that as he slid into bed. 'I don't think I can do this right now. Wake me up in an hour or something.' Fatass didn't even pull the covers away from his lover's body. He just curled himself around him and stared out the wind-"

"Franceypants," Italy's voice was shaking. "This sounds a lot like the story you told me about the man and the woman, except food wasn't mentioned in that one."

"Oh, I don't think so," France's voice strained to remain innocent-sounding. _I wasn't bloated when I lost my virginity!_ "Just listen, will you?

"Fatass curled his body around Idiot's. He could feel the latter shifting around. Then he received a marvelous, _delicious_ surprise. Idiot had latched on to his dick! Oh, what a wonderful feeling it was! The wetness of Idiot's mouth, the lighter-than-air feeling deep beneath Fatass's navel! Fatass never felt happier than when his seed mobilized within him-"

"FRANCE! I don't like this story!" Italy cried. His voice was muffled; he had pulled the covers over his face.

France was dismayed that Italy hadn't called him 'Franceypants" as usual. He leaned over and gently tugged the comforter from his brother's face. Italy's eyes were shut tight, refusing to see the man who was, quite frankly, corrupting his child-like mind.

"Shush, child," France murmured. "I could be _far _more graphic. I'm watering this down for your sake, believe it or not. I could tell you that Idiot ran his tongue along Fatass's dick slowly, gently licking the sweat from each pubic hair individu-"

Tears leaked from Italy's tightly shut eyes. "France, this sounds too much like one of Germany's DVDs!"

France gave a sad smile. "I'll skip over this part then, as long as you open your eyes and call me Franceypants. There's no reason to be scared of your own brother, is there?"

"There is if you lie to me."

"Lie to you? When did I do that?"

"Earlier. You said I would love this story. I don't! I hate it! You lied!"

"'Lied' is an overstatement. I just had my expectations a little high, that's all. Come now, frère chéri. I said I'd skip this part if you opened your eyes and called me Franceypants. I'm speaking the truth."

"Cross your heart?"

France knew that Italy couldn't see him, but me he drew an imaginary X over his chest with his finger anyway. "Cross my heart, frérot."

Italy slowly cracked his eyes open. They were shining with unwept tears. "Okay, Franceypants. I'm ready."

"Good." France smiled warmly. "Well, Idiot pleasured Fatass, so on and so forth. The pair fell asleep. About an hour into his slumber, Fatass was woken. He didn't know what had broken the silence of the night. Had it been a passing car blaring music? Probably. He closed his eyes. _Drip._ Fatass thought nothing of it. _Drip. _He squinted his already closed eyes. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

"'Damn it! It must've been that damn dripping that woke me up!' proclaimed Fatass as he untangled himself from Idiot. 'Crap plumbing.'

"Still groggy with sleep, he stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen. The sink's faucet was fine; no sign of dripping water. But he could still hear dripping. He made his way to the downstairs bathroom. All the plumbing was in good shape. The dripping had ceased.

"As he trudged back up the stairs, he considered checking out the upstairs bathroom at the end of the hall. But, he was lazy, and the dripping had stopped, and he saw no use in it. He stepped back into his room and almost had a heart attack-"

"Was there a murderer in his room?" Italy questioned in a small voice.

France pressed a finger to his own lips –the signal to be quiet- and winked, but did not interrupt his story to verbally comfort his brother.

"-When he saw the lump beneath the covers of his bed. But then he remembered that Idiot was spending the night. He crawled back into bed, slightly shaken by his midnight exploration. 'I'm a hero, I can totally handle this!' he said. Suddenly, he felt something engulf his member. It was Idiot again."

France paused to glance at Italy. The latter shook his head. France smiled to communicate that he understood. _No horny graphicness. _

"Fatass forgot his fears as Idiot's rhythmic sucking lulled him to sleep. He finished up and fell back asleep. But he did not sleep long. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

"'What is this crap,' Fatass muttered as he woke again. 'Chinese water torture? I'll look hideous in the morning if I don't get any fucking sleep!'

"Again, he crept through the house, trying to find the source of the steady dripping. By the time he'd searched the downstairs bathroom, the dripping had ceased. He almost tripped coming back upstairs, disregarded the bathroom down the hall, and plopped back into bed, not even bothering to pull the covers away from Idiot's body.

"'Hey, dude, if you're still awake-' Fatass's words were cut off. 'Dude, you sure know how to please a man,' Fatass murmured as he was once again lulled to sleep by Idiot's loving tongue."

"Franceypants, can I have my blankets back?" Italy's voice cut through France's mind. He had gotten an erection and without even noticing, had dragged the blanket away from Italy in an attempt to hide it. _What's the point of hiding it? We both know it's there. Well, Italy might be thinking something along the lines of 'Germany's pants do that sometimes too!' but when have I ever been shy about my desires?_

France told Italy that he would get them back when he fell asleep. Italy was a little confused, but satisfied with the knowledge that he would be warm as he slept.

"Okay. Continue with the story,"Italy said. "I think I can take it."

"Fatass slept for some time, before a familiar dripping awoke him. 'You've got to be fucking kidding me,' he groaned as his eyelids drew apart once more. He didn't even bother going downstairs; he headed straight to the bathroom down the hallway. With each step, the dripping grew louder._ Drip. Drip. DRIP. DRIP. DRIP._" France closed his eyes as he started the final episode of his tale. _I want to imagine this perfectly. _

"Fatass checked the faucet and the toilet first. Both were perfectly fine. He turned to the shower and tore the closed curtain to the side. He released a strangled sounding scream. Hanging by his neck from the tightly coiled shower hose was Idiot, his eyes wide and staring at nothing. Gashes had separated his lovely skin in ways that wound have made stitches impossible. Fatass could swear he could see the purple hue of his lover's left lung as Idiot's body spun forlornly. His blood left streaks as gravity pulled it downward from his lifeless veins. The plink it made as it dripped onto the tiled shower floor pounded Fatass's eardrums. Oddly shaped bruises –Fatass swore the one on Idiot's cheek looked as though a faucet pipe had been driven into his skin- dyed Idiot various shades of purple and black.

"Fatass had never been so scared in his life. He turned away from the shower with the intentions of running out of the house and asking the neighbors to call the police. He didn't even care that he was still naked. As he lifter his foot to begin his escape, something bright jumped out at him from the corner of his eye.

"Written on the bathroom mirror in Idiot's scarlet blood was the message: _RUSSIANS CAN SUCK DICKS TOO_."

France smiled smugly to himself as he wrapped up his story. _If Russia ever hears this story, he'll mutilate me as bad as he destroyed 'Idiot.'_

"Well, Italy? What do you think?" France questioned. "It wasn't too sexually graphic in the end, was it?"

There was no response. France opened his eyes. The bed before him was empty. _What the hell?_

"Italy? Frère chéri! Italy, where did you go?"

France paused. He'd heard gunshots in the distance, followed by Italy crying for Germany. _Damn that fool, now I have to explain shit to Switzerland_. France sighed as he grabbed his jacket and stepped outside into the cool late evening spring air, intent on bringing his little brother back to his home.


	3. Chapter 3 : A RunIn With Switzy

**Onee-chan Nightray: I am here~ LonleyPerson wrote the previous two chapters, just saying. Also, I do not professionally speak French or Italian, so I apologize if Google translate was an ass and translated incorrectly. Not to mention this chappie was written under the influence of Nightcore, which is my new musical obsession...**

**Hetalia is not owned by QueensOfPierogiAndPasta.**

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Italy ran, the ground was quickly swept underneath his feet. The only thing on his mind was to run. Run as fast as he could toward Germany. "Germanyy! Germany!" He cried out. France's bedtime story had scared him.

"That's it! I am going to kill you!" Switzerland screamed, running after Italy shooting his gun. He did not appreciate Italy running through his yard in the middle of the night.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't kill mee! Ahhh! Germanny! Savee mee!" Italy yelped as a bullet whizzed past his face. "I'm too young to die! I'll lie and say I'm a virgin so don't kill mee! I want to see more pretty ladies and eat more pasta! Germanyy! It's all France's fault! Don't kill me!" The Italian wailed, he was cornered by Switerland.

"Please don't kill me! Pleasedon'tkillme!" Words came out of Italy's mouth, all in a rush causing them to blend.

"How many times have run through my yard at night? I have the right to shoot you through the ass right now!" Switzerland angrily yelled, waving his gun in Italy's face, completely unaware of the Frenchman coming closer.

"Oh, _beau garçon_, leave little Italy alone. Hmm? And have a little fun with _moi_ instead." France whispered, trailing his hands down towards Switzerland's dick. However, Switzerland just turned around and smashed France's head with his gun.

"You perverted ass! Don't come by me or Liechtenstein with those hands!" The gun was now pointed directly at France's forehead. _Oh shit. It was not supposed to end like this! _The Frenchman gulped, he did not want a hole in the middle of his face which he though was beautiful.

"Okay! Okay! Just don't destroy my face! I'll do anything!" France begged on his knees, holding onto Switzerland's leg for dear life. In responce, Switzy kicked him offf.

"Then take that retarded Italy and _get off my lawn!_" To emphasize his anger, Switzerland shot his gun in the air.

"Of course!" France grabbed the wailing Italy and absconded. Switzerland watched them run, and shot his gun for a good measure.

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When Italy and France were gasping for breath in France's kitchen, Italy turned to France, "Franceypants. Can I make some pasta? Pasta calms me down and I need to calm down. Ve..."

"Of course, frère chéri." France replied and stood up, getting a glass and some of his wine. He sipped his wine, watching Italy cook his beloved pasta in the kitchen whilst humming a small tune.

"Italy, do you know why we're so different, even though we're brothers?"

"No. Why?" Italy asked, curious.

"My mère was a tree nymph."

"B-but I though magical creatures weren't real. Does that mean England was right about them?" Italy asked, confused.

"I will explain everything in a minute." France said, and stood up. As he was closing and locking the doors in his ktichen, Italy got worried.

"France...What are you doing?"

"Oh, I am simply making sure no one will hear this. You see, it's a secret that I am sharing with only you." France explained whilist closing the windows. _But really, it's so you don't run, frère chéri, and just in case if we have a little fun._

"Now I am ready to tell the story. But first things first, I must tell you. Never tell anyone of the story I am about to tell you. It is a secret, and will remain a secret." Italy nodded with a serious face, as if it was a serious matter. France smiled and continued.

"While England, that fool, says he sees magical creatures, I'm sure as most of us are, that he simply takes a tad bit too much weed at a time. Psh, as if _Tinker Bell_ would be a real creature. Honestly that idiot-"

"Franceypants...the story?" Italy interrupted.

"Oh, of course Italy. But first I must ask. Do I have to make it less sexually graphic for you?" France calmly asked, while Italy's eyes grew wide.

"Y-yes! Please France...Franceypants!" He frantically said, well more like begged.

"One time ago, Roman Empire, was walking down a road, and may I say, he was quite horny. He heard some rustling in the bushes to his right, and there he saw..." France paused, trying to remember one of Grampa Rome's lovers.

"Who did he see? Ve~" Italy was curious.

"He saw...Germania." France replied, trying to make it sound dramatic.

"What was Germania doing in the bushes?"

"I'm getting there, now _please _stop interrupting Italy."

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**Onee-chan: ah yes...FINALLY DONE WITH ALL MY TYPING. I. Am. Awesome. Bah...it's short. Since I have no dignity, I shall now ask you to...**

**Please review**


	4. Chapter 4 : A Senseless Tale

**What happens when you deprive LonelyPerson of her precious sleep? She comes up with weird crap like this story. Only more graphic. And it usually doesn't make sense when she writes it down. Actually, this doesn't really make any sense either.**

**We don't own Hetalia!**

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France scrambled to continue with the story. As far as he was concerned, Rome had just snuck up behind Germania and… yeah. But Italy had made it obvious that he was not a fan of erotic tales. _How the hell does he survive with Germany and his hardcore porn? Speaking of which, I should ask him if he'll send me some. I can't understand why the ass wants to keep it all to himself._

"'Why, hello Germania, what are you doing over there?' Rome called out to the other man. Germania turned around, a grumpy expression on his face as usual. He held a sharp knife in one hand and a long, thin piece of wood in the other. At the blond man's feet, Rome could see feathers.

"Germania stood. 'Making arrows. These bushes provide wonderful wood for the purpose.'

"When Germania said 'wood,' dirty thoughts polluted Rome's mind. He was tempted to roleplay 'Powerful Huntsman and Naughty Prey' with his Head of Guard, but knew that Germania would rather offer himself as a sacrifice before he agreed to that kind of thing. Instead, he decided to simply press on with conversation. 'They seem almost as though they're meant to be used for a smaller bow. Are they for your grandson Prussia?'

"'Yes,' Germania repli-"

"Am I in this story?" Italy asked._ Interrupting the story, yet again._

"No."

"But if Prussia is Germania's grandson and I'm Rome's grandson, and Prussia's in the story, shouldn't I be too?"

France sighed. "It doesn't work that way, Italy. Prussia's older than you, that's why he's in the story and you're not. You weren't born yet."

Italy looked a little sad. "Okay."

"'Yes,' Germania replied. 'He's growing slowly, and I want to teach him basic battle tactics while he's still a young child.'

"Rome noticed a small vial filled with yellowish liquid hanging from a thread wrapped around Germania's neck. He pointed to it. 'What's that? A love potion? I'd ask where you got it, but,' Rome flexed his muscles. 'The ladies are attracted to me just fine.'

"Germania rolled his eyes. 'It's a potion of sorts, a mixture of poisonous plant juices and various animal venoms. I concocted it myself. You dip the tip of your arrows in it, and it'll cause your target to hallucinate and hopefully die, even if they're just grazed by the arrow.'

"That sounds awful," Italy whispered. "How could Grandpa be friends with a crazy guy like that?"

France chose to ignore Italy. "Rome laughed. 'Oh, really? Hallucinations and death? My dear, that looks like piss to me.'"

"Germania's face showed no emotion, but he was frustrated. Rome was always downgrading him and discussing girls and sex when he should be studying battle tactics. Suddenly, Rome lunged for the vial around his neck. Germania lifted his knife, but Rome was still a strong empire at this time, and snapped the thread before the knife could so much as graze his skin. He popped the stopper off the vial and downed the liquid inside, intent on proving to Germania that his potion was pure crap."

Italy stood and took his now empty plate to the sink. He turned back to France. "Grandpa would never do that, he was too nice. I don't think this story is true."

France got up as well and walked over to Italy. _I'd just love to bend him over the counter._ "Italy, you're making this much harder than it should be. Please, I'm doing this for you. You wanted a bedtime story and I'm telling you one." France pulled a clean plate off of the shelf and handed it to his brother. "Here, have more pasta and listen to me."

France sat back down, struggling to compose himself, what with his sexual desires and irritation over Italy's constant interrupting. _People do not interrupt my gorgeous voice. They listen in awe and attempt to figure out which famous singer sounds like me. _

Italy sat, his plate loaded with pasta, and looked at France expectantly.

"As Germania had promised, Rome began to hallucinate. The colors of the landscape ran together. He could hear angels singing somewhere. Up ahead, he saw the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Tanned skin, wavy dark hair, a tall and slender body. He began to run toward her. He did not feel the jab of arrows under his feet, nor did he hear Germania yell his name. He began to strip out of his armor as he ran. Germania chased after him. Rome's-" France was not sure what the correct word was. "_Skirt_ hit him in the face, and the disgusted blond man could only watch as Rome ran away.

"Rome reached the girl. She had not moved the whole time. He did not even pause to flirt with her. He just jumped on top of her and began to pump his hips. He didn't care that his dick really hurt for some reason; this girl was _hot_.

"Germania was shocked. Were the hallucinations so powerful that it made Rome start having sex with a tree? It appeared so. But the truth was, the poison had revealed marvelous magical creatures, including tree nymphs, which was what Rome was humping.

"After a struggle, Germania managed to pull Rome from the tree and convinced him to put clothes on. The poison was wearing off, and because Rome was in a way immune to poison as an empire, he didn't die. The poor nymph was traumatized. At first she had been happy to see a man running toward her. But he had raped her, and she could feel something within her.

"When spring arrived, she gave birth to a tiny thing. It looked nothing like her, nor her assailant, but she loved it nonetheless. She named the baby France, and the child spent his days frolicking among the flowers living nearby. One day, Rome came back to the spot where he had seen Germania making arrows that one day. He was looking for Germania's poison vial, which hadn't been recovered, when he saw the blond boy. Astonished that such an innocent kid could be on his own, he took him back home, to the dismay of the tree nymph, who he could no longer see.

" And that is where I get my natural beauty from."

France decided that that would be a nice way to end his story.

"So…" Italy began. "That means you're not really my brother? More like my uncle or something?"

_Crap, I didn't think this shit through_.

France stood, grinning devilishly. He touched Italy's face. "Why don't you just ignore the details and allow me to demonstrate just how attracted Rome was to the tree nymph."


End file.
